


Every Time I Close My Eyes

by EndoratheWitch



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Love Story, ghost story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 02:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5113184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EndoratheWitch/pseuds/EndoratheWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bog's new apartment is haunted</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Time I Close My Eyes

She didn’t remember much about the accident. Just that one moment she had been riding her motorcycle home angry as hell at Roland. Then the next she was here in her apartment and all her stuff was gone. At first she had been angry, then scared. Especially after she had tried to leave, but each time she went out the door, she was right back in her living room. The worst part, aside from being dead in the first place, was that she could not check on her little sister or her father. She knew somehow that they were alive and fine, but other than that she had not seen them and had no idea how long she had been dead. 

After a while, she had no idea how much time had gone by as her apartment sat empty, she decided that if she had to be dead, and apparently a ghost, then by god she was going to enjoy it. If only someone would move into her vacant apartment. She managed to make a few creepy noises when the apartment was shown a few times, but otherwise she had nothing much to do. She came to the quick conclusion that boredom was its own type of hell. 

Bog unlocked the door, then picked up the bags and pushed the door the rest of the way open with his hip. He dropped his suitcases and then went back out to pick up the boxes he had carried up the stairs, depositing them in the apartment a little bit at a time. Finally he had his few things in the apartment. He stood there for a moment, his hands on his hips, grinning. No furniture yet, so he would be sitting and sleeping on the floor for a few days, but it was his, his own apartment out of his mother’s house finally. He grinned as he looked around. His accent came out a bit thicker when he wasn’t trying to control it and he was alone. “All mine!” He chuckled, grinning as he started to pull some things out of the boxes. 

Marianne watched from the apartment’s small kitchen, just peeking up over the top of the counter. She hadn’t really thought through the fact that she was a ghost and she was hiding. She had hidden from others coming to look at the apartment and once or twice she was in a room when someone walked in inspecting the place, but they had not seen her. So she wasn’t sure why she was hiding now, but there it was. 

She watched him with narrowed eyes, a smile creasing her ghostly face. He wasn’t handsome exactly, but there was something about him. He was the exact opposite of her cheating boyfriend that had gotten her killed. Where Roland had been blonde and model good-looking, this guy was tall, lean and dark with sharp features. But there was something about him that she found attractive. Great! She thought, attracted to someone alive when you’re dead. Perfect, Marianne. 

That first night Marianne spent all her time practicing moving things. Okay, not things, his wallet. He was asleep on the floor in a sleeping bag, wearing only a pair of boxers. His body was slender, but he had wiry muscles. She liked the tattoos on his arms, something Roland would never have. He had a few interesting scars as well. It was pretty hot watching him undress, even if she had watched him while hiding in the closet. She didn’t know why she kept hiding, she didn’t think he would be able to see her, but it just felt weird to just stand there and ogle him undressing. 

It was bad enough she felt like a peeping tom in her own apartment. Though she did get a really good look of the tattoos that ran up his arms and arched along his shoulder blades AND the man had a really nice ass, as well as other “things.” For a moment she wondered if ghosts could blush because she certainly felt like she was blushing. 

After a few days Bog finally started having furniture moved into the apartment and it was beginning to take on a cozy feel. His mother had brought over a few pillows and blankets to throw over the couch and the couple of chairs. Except for the occasional cold spot, it was a pretty decent place and he was pretty happy about it. He had heard the last tenant had died in an auto accident, which was the only reason the apartment had become available, plus other possible tenants had been spooked off for some reason. 

That might explain why he always felt like someone was watching him, nerves knowing the owner of the apartment had died. At least no one had died IN the apartment. Being Scottish, he had been raised on his mom’s ghost stories. He didn’t believe in ghosts, at least he kept telling himself he didn’t, but no point in testing it either. 

It had been a few weeks, Marianne had not really done much of anything except watch Bog. She practiced moving objects when he was asleep or not at home. She had learned his name was Bog, she learned his habits, what he liked to eat, his favorite music…and while all of that was interesting,she was getting bored. He barely watched TV! He read, played his guitar, talked on the phone with his mother, the dude had NO social life. She got the impression that he didn’t date on purpose, but that he felt it was a failing in his looks more than simply not getting out there. 

She gathered it had begun because of some bitch, who—if Marianne could get a hold of her—would scare the shit out of her for hurting him. He seemed like a really nice guy. But yes, she was bored. He didn’t really DO anything and she couldn’t interact with him. Okay, maybe she could, but she had been too chicken shit to try. She found that she liked him. 

He was actually really sweet and shy. She could tell he didn’t like himself very much, but for the life or death of her she couldn’t figure out why exactly. He was talented, could sing, play the guitar, he wrote, he was nice to his mother, annoyed with her at times, but he always ended his phone calls with an “I love you too, Mom.” He just needed to get out more and stop hiding. 

One night Bog had fallen asleep on his couch. He had one leg over the arm, the other on the floor. His head was resting on the opposite arm and he was snoring ever so slightly. She had moved over by him crouching down near his face watching him. He looked a lot younger when he wasn’t scowling so much. His cheeks were rough since he hadn’t shaved in the last few day. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch his cheek not knowing what would happen if she did. 

She grinned slowly as she noticed the pen he had been using on a sheet of music. He wrote his own songs and had been working all night on a particular song about how poisonous love was. While she liked the song and liked him, the sharpie was just begging for her to do something with it, plus she was tired of him only perceiving her as a cold spot. This man needed some excitement in his life and though she was dead, she going to be just that, excitement. 

She reached over, picking up the pen, grinning at her own silliness, as she very gently and very softly drew a penis on his cheek. It took a lot of effort for her not to burst out laughing, but when he started to twitch she vanished, dropping the pen stifling her laugh.. 

Bog shivered and groaned a bit. He sighed wiping a hand down his face as he sat up. Damn, he fell asleep on the couch. He cracked his neck and glanced down noticing the pen on the floor. He shivered a bit rubbing his hands up and down his arms, wondering if he had left a window open. As he stood, he cracked his back and dropped the pen back on the table. He checked the apartment windows, but they were all closed. 

He yawned and headed to the bathroom, flipping on the light. He happened to glance at his reflection and stopped short. On his face, in black pen, was a poorly drawn penis. He blinked slowly, then rubbed his eyes. Nope, it was still there. “What the fuck!” 

Bog grabbed the soap and a rag, running the water and scrubbing hard at his face until it was red. It faded a little bit but it was still clearly a penis. Bog snarled and threw the soap. That was when he heard giggling. For a moment, he went very still listening. It was definitely giggling. Bog growled. “All right, ye fucker! Come out!” 

Bog stomped out of his bathroom, his hands balled into fists, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. He moved swiftly into his bedroom, throwing open the closet—nothing. He went through the whole apartment opening and looking every place he thought someone could possibly hide, finding nothing. He stood in the middle of his living room, snarling to himself but he was tired and there was no explanation coming so he went to bed. Marianne was surprised, he had heard her! 

But that aside, his reaction had been worth all the work she had done on learning to hold objects!! She snorted again and started to let her mind wander, wondering about what other things she could do to this guy. After a few days, no other penis drawings appeared on his face or anywhere else in the apartment so Bog slowly forgot about the instance, thinking maybe it was just an anomaly, maybe even a sleepwalking event. 

A few days later, Bog was on his phone, Marianne watching and listening from the kitchen. She peeked over the edge of the counter watching him as he laid on his couch. By his attitude she figured he must be talking to his mother. It had taken her a few days to think of what she could do to mess with him and she had finally come up with it. She wasn’t going to do it to all the cookies, (that would just be cruel) but she was going to do it to a few. She grinned slowly. The cookies were on the counter and she had moved the toothpaste from the bathroom. 

While he was occupied on the phone she took the frosting out of two of the cookies and replaced it with toothpaste. She snickered as she moved the toothpaste back to the bathroom. She was on her way back when she saw Bog had stood up and moved into the kitchen. He picked up one of the cookies, one of the two she had messed with and took a bite. 

He cursed loudly throwing it down and rushing over to spit into the sink. “Fucking fuck fuck!!” he yelled and she could not help the laugh that burst out. Bog whipped around at the sound, yelling into the phone. “I’m not yelling at you, Mom! No, mom. Sorry. Look I gotta go. Yeah, yeah dinner tomorrow.” He pushed the button on the phone tossing it down, his eyes narrowed. “Who the fuck is in here? I swear to God, I am going to kill you.” 

Marianne snorted, she couldn’t help it, threatening to kill someone was a great motivator to get someone to come out of hiding. Bog heard the snort and with two long strides he was at the bathroom and looking right at her. Marianne gasped as he blinked in surprise. They stared at each other and Bog hissed, “I can see through you!” She gasped. “You can see me!” At that moment, Bog collapsed. 

Bog woke slowly, his head pounding. He moved his head slowly and groaned softly. Then he heard a voice. “You hit your head really hard.” He jerked and then groaned in pain, grabbing his head as he screwed his eyes closed. He felt a coldness in his hair and opened his eyes to see the ghost looking down at him. She was stroking his hair or at least that was what he assumed she was doing by the chill on his scalp. This close she could see his eyes were very blue in his rough face. He stared hard at her. “I can see you.” 

She smiled. “Yeah, you can see me.” 

He sat up very slowly to keep the pain in his head from blinding him. She floated back a bit from him, but not too far. She looked, well, real in a sense, though there was an absence of substance to her. In life she must has been beautiful, with short, spunky hair and pretty brown eyes in a pixie face. In death she still looked beautiful—just, well, dead. 

Bog stared at her and she stared back. “How long have you been here?” Bog’s voice sounded odd to his own ears as he asked his question. She smiled looking a bit unsure as she answered, her voice a whisper, but clear. “No idea. Just one day I was on my way home, the next I was here. The place has been empty for a while but I have no idea how long that’s been.” 

Bog nodded and then softly asked. “What’s your name?” She smiled at him. “Marianne. I have to say, except for the fainting, you seem to be taking this awfully well.” 

He snorted then. “I fainted, not sure how well I am actually taking this. But, wait…are you the one who drew a penis on me?” Marianne couldn’t help it, she started to giggle. “Yeah, sorry. I was bored.” Bog groaned and rolled his eyes. “Just my luck. I get a pretty, bored ghost.” Her grin brightened. “You think I’m pretty?” 

Over the rest of the night they talked. Bog sat on his couch with a blanket around his shoulders, turned to face her while she answered what questions she could. 

As the sun started to come over the horizon, Bog yawned, covering his mouth trying to stifle it, but he couldn’t. Marianne grinned. “You should get some sleep.” 

Bog rubbed a knuckle over his eyes. “So do you disappear in the daylight?” She laughed. “Nah. Just usually have nothing to do when you’re not here.” Bog smiled. “But you have no idea why you’re stuck here, huh?” 

“Nope.” She shrugged. “But seriously. You should get some sleep!” He waved a dismissive hand at her. “Okay, okay, let me call into work first. I can take a nap and maybe we can figure this out.” 

She smiled softly. “Trying to get rid of me after only two pranks?” Bog looked startled. “No, no, just…well…doesn’t seem right that you’re stuck here, with me.” 

He stood and stretched, then cracked his neck. “Okay, off to bed. See ya when I get up?” 

She blushed. “Yep. By the way, I don’t mind being stuck here with you.” He glanced sideways at her, looking a bit startled, then grinned looking slightly embarrassed. “See ye in a little while.” She bit her lip. “Sleep well, Bog.” 

Over the next few weeks, Bog checked out books from the library, did internet searches and even asked his Mom to relate the ghost stories she use to tell him, all in an attempt to find out how to let Marianne move on, but nothing worked. They spent each evening together talking, getting to know each other, trying various things to free her, but nothing seemed to have any effect. 

When they were not trying to figure out how to free her spirit, Marianne helped Bog work on his music. They laughed at some of the lyrics she came up with, but then they would be working close together, Bog wrapped in his blanket to stay warm as Marianne leaned close. He would glance over at her to see her looking back at him. 

She looked as if she would blush, though her colors seems washed out, but he could see her soulful brown eyes and a slight pink to her cheeks. Marianne was always startled when Bog looked at her, really looked at her with those blue eyes of his, they seemed so brilliant, to shine with an inner light. It made her dead heart skip a beat. 

One night, he couldn’t wait to get home and see Marianne. Bog came home from work with a bag of Chinese takeout without realizing it, he had ordered enough for two people. He had even picked up some flowers on the way. It was then that Bog realized he was falling in love with her, though he said nothing. He didn’t mention the extra food, but he did put the flowers in a cup of water for her. 

Marianne had smiled and gazed at them with such a look of longing that it had nearly broke his heart just watching her. But he didn’t say a word about how he felt. It was pointless, since it could never really be anything. Over the many nights when Bog finally fell asleep, sometimes wrapped in a blanket on the couch with her, 

Marianne found herself watching over him, confiding in him, her dead heart once again alive each time she was with him. She couldn’t wait for him to come home from work and if she had been capable of it, she would have thrown herself into her arms. But she never told him she was falling in love with him knowing that if he succeeded, he would be helping her move on. 

One night they were sitting together on his couch, Bog wrapped in a blanket as usual because of the cold from her, but he never complained as he sat close to her. He never cared how cold she made him; he liked being close to her, it was a way of touching her. He held his hand out to her and she softly laid her ghostly hand over his. He could feel the coolness of her touch. “What is your one regret?” he asked her softly that night. 

She smiled sadly. “I have never been in love. I thought Roland was it, but the night I died was also the night I found out he didn’t love me.” 

Bog moved his hand, reaching out to stroke her cheek with the back of his fingers. He felt the cold of her essence and wondered what it would have been like to really touch her, to maybe kiss her? Marianne closed her eyes, leaning into the faint touch. 

“I thought I was in love once too,” he murmured softly. She frowned gently, looking over at him. “What happened?” 

He shrugged. “She wasn’t in love with me. Too ugly.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. 

Marianne’s frown deepened. “Bog, you’re not ugly at all.” He gave her a looked that said he didn’t believe her. “Would you have gone out with me when you were alive?” 

Marianne stuck her tongue out at him. “Yes! And you better watch it or I am going to short sheet your bed!” 

Bog chuckled leaning on his elbow against the back of the couch, his chin resting in his hand. “I don’t know why this Roland guy would cheat on you. You’re wonderful.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth Bog sat up straight, looking embarrassed. “Ah, yeah..” 

Marianne smiled softly looking at him. Oh no, she thought to herself, no, not now, not when it’s too late. She knew without question, looking at those beautiful eyes of his that she had fallen in love and nothing in her life before or after her death now hurt as much as knowing she was in love with someone she could never have. 

That night while Bog slept, Marianne cried. She cried her heart out, for all she lost, all she could never have, for the fact that she found someone to love, to love deeply, but she could never be with him. She cried until she had no more tears, her body even just a ghost of a body, ached. She couldn’t do this, not to him. 

Bog looked for Marianne the next day, but her spirit never appeared. Bog’s heart thumped hard in his chest, did she leave? “Marianne?” He walked the apartment calling her name, but she never appeared. Marianne had decided that night he didn’t need her in his life. That he would be happier with her gone. He could go on and live a normal life, find a love he could have, she would just watch. She would love him from afar, so to speak. 

Bog became more and more depressed. She was gone. He was in love with someone who was dead. He would spend some nights alone on his couch listening to Dark Paradise by Lana Del Ray, staring at nothing unmoving. Marianne would watch him, hidden away from his sight, her heart aching but she made no move to let him find her. 

When he didn’t see her for several days, he decided to find her grave site and started bringing her flowers. He brought the flowers to the gravestone and he would bring more home with him. He would talk to her at her headstone and again at his apartment, telling her about his day, how much he missed her, he even told her how much he loved her. 

He begged her to come back, but she never appeared. Marianne would watch him, keeping herself hidden, aching for him and then when she was alone, she discovered that she did indeed have more tears to shed. 

One night, a month after Marianne had disappeared, Bog was alone, staring at a song he had been working on entitled Marianne. Bog poured himself into the song, writing everything he felt for her. He set the paper and pin on the coffee table, a single tear made its way from the corner of his eyes. “I miss you, Marianne. I miss you so much.” 

Bog covered his face, swallowing hard on the pain which made his chest ache and his eyes burn. 

“I love you. Marianne, I love you. Come back, please.” 

Marianne was sitting on the floor under the window watching him. She shouldn’t hurt this much, she thought, I’m dead, I should not be hurting anymore. But she did hurt as she watched Bog leaning forward, his hands wrapped around his arms, rocking slightly, sobbing out his broken heart. 

Two nights later, Bog came home exhausted. He hadn’t been sleeping well. He hadn’t been doing anything well since Marianne vanished. Occasionally, he would feel a cold spot and hope, maybe, but when she never appeared he started to think that he was losing his mind, falling in love with a dead girl whose spirit, maybe, he had never met. 

He stood in his apartment for a moment looking around. It was so empty without her. He pushed his hands into his pockets, just standing there. He didn’t want to be here without her; staying in the apartment was getting harder and harder. That was when he decided to go for a walk. Marianne watched him turn right back around and go out. She wanted to follow him, wanted to comfort him, she wanted more than anything to tell him she was here still. That she loved him. 

She waited for him to come back, but after several hours he never returned. She paced, looking for him out the apartment window, wanting him to come back, but he never did. Time passed. It was so slow and Bog still never returned. A week or so later, an older woman showed up. She looked worn and pale as she entered the apartment quietly. She was a tiny woman, but Marianne immediately knew this had to be Bog’s mother. The older woman stood looking into the apartment, her voice cracking softly. “Bog? Are you here?” 

Marianne stood there silent, her heart pounding. What was she doing? What did she mean? Where was Bog? 

That was when Marianne heard Bog’s voice beside her. “I wonder if she could hear me?” 

Marianne turned swiftly to see Bog standing there, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He looked down at her and grinned. 

“Bog? Bog? Oh my God, what happened!!!?” 

She grabbed him by the sides of his jacket, then nearly dropped her hands in shock as she touched him. “Bog?” 

He grinned wider, his smile showing off his crooked teeth and made his eyes twinkle. 

“Guess I’m dead.” 

Marianne swallowed, her hands started to tremble. “What happened?” 

Bog took her hands with his long ones. She could feel him! He was warm, he felt warm like he was alive! He smiled at her. 

“That night, when I went for a walk, I heard car tires squeal. The last thing I remember was headlights. I guess I was hit.” 

He was still grinning like crazy as he looked at her. 

“Bog!!! Why are you smiling?? You’re dead!” Marianne was trembling all over and tears started to roll down her cheeks. 

He smirked. “Yeah, I know.” 

That was when he grabbed her, by her upper arms, pulled her close and kissed her. He leaned her back, wrapping his arms tightly around her, his tongue plunged into her mouth. It didn’t matter that they were both dead, she felt his kiss in every part of her being. 

It was a kiss of new love, real love and she felt it everywhere. She reached up and desperately wrapped her arms around his neck, holding tight, returning his kiss with every fiber of her being. He shuddered with a smile against her mouth. They both opened their eyes to look at one another when they heard Bog’s mother. 

“Glad you found her, Bog.” 

They both turned in shock to see his mother looking at the both of them, a gentle smile on her face. She looked happy, but with a touch of sadness. 

Bog stepped forward though he kept a hand on Marianne. “Mom?” 

She nodded, standing there smiling at the two of them. “I love you, honey. And I will miss you, but I am so happy you found her, at last.” 

That was when Marianne saw something behind her. It was bright. She tugged on Bog and he turned to see it too, a bright light. 

Bog’s mother whispered. “Go on son, be happy.” She looked at Marianne. “Thank you.” 

Marianne smiled softly as Bog turned to her, lacing his fingers with her. “Ready?” 

She grinned up at him. “Oh yes, Bog. I am very ready.”


End file.
